Jinn inclined his head in assent. "It is. I taste what you taste. The effects are wasted on me." He could not feel overfull, or sleepy, or inebriated. Coffee did not agitate him and ice cream did not rot his teeth. "I am sustained by different means. But - yes. I would share a meal, if you asked."
The toaster chose that moment to chime. Saved by the bell, Jinn turned to retrieve the bread slices, now almost but not quite charred. His fingertips brushed the metal griddle but the intense heat didn't draw so much as a hiss of pain.
"There is butter," Jinn said as he set the plate in front of Salim. "A collection of jams and syrups and other such things, as well. I have seen the other guests use them. There is one who eats raw eggs on toast... I don't know that I would recommend it." Certainly the Salim he knew had never ordered that before in diners. But who was Jinn to judge, if he wished to try it?